Were ya dragged up ya ugly pup ‘ cos it looks that way, all you seem to do with your Goddamn day is drink beer and shag a ridiculous amount of less than pretty things
As for the ones who are especially bad, you always tell me that they can sing, any excuse so long as you’re not seen to be tying your own sexual noose
And I don’t mean it like that, you’re no Michael Hutchence
Only chance of that happening is if you ever come across Paula Yates
And I don’t mean it like that either
And when you’re not drinking or shagging all you seem to be doing is masturbate
It’s too late for you and I, although I am still here, pretty damn queer of me seeing as I promised I’d leave a long time ago, but a part of me, albeit small, is all too entertained by your particular show
So on you go, with the most disgusting flow
I’m sure you’ll find an innuendo for that too
The strangest part is this, makes me not much better than you, but while you slept last night on the sofa I stumbled over in a slew all of my own, sorry but I needed something, anything to make me groan
We’re desperate motherf**kers the pair of us, full of despair with no place to go but to one another
Can’t believe I promised your ailing mother I’d take care of you ’til the end of time
Sublime, you’re so far from Goddamn sublime, and as well as that ironically enough you use that word in almost all of your rhyme
Tell me this, when you can, is their a chance for us in the near future, or am I forever in your mother’s debt owing to that bitch of a daughter we bore

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